“The day had gone by just as days go by. I had killed it in accordance with my primitive and retiring way of life.”
Steppenwolf is a deceiving title. Despite what one might think, the book is not about a 60â€™s rock star, off-roading in the wilderness or even werewolves. This is not to say that Herman Hesse does not take his reader though the transformation of a man who was born to be wild.
Set in the early 1900â€™s, focuses on the life of a depressed drifter, Harry Haller, the man who calls himself the Steppenwolf. He is a wanderer and a loner; beaten and scarred by a failed marriage, left apathetic towards most things in general. One day, while walking through the streets in town, he finds a book on the ground that contains the story of his life. The pages guide him but also taunt his current way of life, urging him to break free and to find inner peace. Apparently, Harryâ€™s problem is that heâ€™s been running away from his true self for too long. Heâ€™s not really a wolf, and never will be, no matter how badly he wants to be one. This fantasy must die, but a new one is waiting for him just around the corner.
Inspired, Harry hits the bar scene and falls in love with the seductive wench Hermine, who takes him on a wild journey of self-discovery. If you fuck with any of the following (debauchery, dancing, or an occasional hit of opium), youâ€™ll dig this book and owe thanks to their mysterious dealer friend, Pablo of â€˜the many elixirs.â€™